Forbidden
by Liete
Summary: -UK/US, AU- 'As he grew older, it became harder to pretend that his attachment to Arthur was mere brotherly love. He did not look at girls the way his friends did—he was looking at Arthur instead.'


**Forbidden  
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**By: Liete**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters portrayed.**

**A/N: ****Please note that they are half-brothers in this story.  
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><p>When he was young it was easy enough to label his fascination as admiration—hero worship. Arthur was older than him, smarter than him, and it was normal for young boys to look up to their brothers.<p>

Alfred just chose not to mention how it wasn't just Arthur's accomplishments that fascinated him. It was also Arthur's mannerisms, the way he carried himself, his voice, his looks, even those silly eyebrows—things that he shouldn't have been paying attention to. Arthur had inherited many things from his mother, and Arthur's mother was not Alfred's mother. Their mutual bond was through their father, who had married Alfred's mother when Arthur was barely two. When Arthur was just three, Alfred had been born, and was certain that he was fascinated with Arthur from the start.

As he grew older, it became harder to pretend that his attachment to Arthur was mere brotherly love. He did not look at girls the way his friends did—he was looking at Arthur instead.

However he felt about Arthur, he knew that even simple brotherly affection was far from mutual. Arthur hated him. Arthur made it a point to call him an annoyance and refused to spend any time with him outside of what their parents required. Alfred knew that Arthur especially hated him for making their parents enact a rule that no girls were allowed in the house after Alfred walked in on Arthur having sex with his girlfriend.

But while he'd certainly earned Arthur's ire for the rest of his life, the incident cemented in Alfred's mind how he truly felt about Arthur.

He'd experimented with touching himself before, but nothing had ever had been as pleasurable as that moment, hiding under his sheets and thinking of Arthur as he touched himself. He thought of Arthur, his bare skin glistening with sweat, his hip muscles flexing in time with his thrusts, his eyes dark and focused. Alfred imagined Arthur doing the same to him—pleasuring him, wanting him—and it was such a powerful, potent fantasy that Alfred had to bite down on his pillow to keep from crying out Arthur's name.

He looked forward to the day when Arthur would leave for college, because then he wouldn't have to see Arthur every day and want something so disgusting and wrong. Instead of planning to depart to a school out of state as he'd always said he was going to do, Arthur announced that he'd be attending a local university and would live at home to save money. It was a decision that filled Alfred with dismay—he could not possible handle _years_ of living with Arthur, wanting him, loving him in ways that brothers simply did not do.

Alfred spent that summer out of the house, searching desperately for a girl who he could fall in love with and forget all about Arthur. He did find a girl, and even slept with her a few times, but she did nothing to abate his feelings for Arthur. If anything, it only made him want Arthur even more, especially since he'd return home each day to find Arthur sitting on the couch and reading. Each time they met each other's gaze, and each time Alfred would retreat to his room to distract himself with video games and comic books and thoughts of whether he'd go to college to study rocket science or archeology—anything to keep his mind off Arthur.

It was one day near the end of the summer that he returned home like any other day, but rather than immediately retreat to his room, Alfred was stopped by the sound of Arthur's voice.

"Hey, idiot, come here."

What Alfred really wanted to do was run, but he turned, scowling, to address Arthur.

"I'm not an idiot."

"Yes, fine, you're not an idiot. Come over here."

Alfred stiffened, but crossed the room. Arthur motioned for him to sit on the couch next to him, and Alfred complied, sitting rigid with as much space between them as he could muster. Arthur folded his book shut and shifted a bit closer.

"You liked what you saw, didn't you?"

Alfred furrowed his eyebrows, and his heart did a little flip in his chest when he realized that Arthur was getting closer to him.

"What do you mean? Your book? You know I think that stuff is boring as hell."

Arthur scoffed and shook his head. "When you saw us, my girlfriend and I. You enjoyed watching, you were mesmerized."

Alfred swallowed hard and was very much aware of how hot his face was getting, but he was determined to not let his composure crumble. His scowl deepened and he shifted away from Arthur.

"No way. It was disgusting, I was frozen in horror. Who wants to see their brother fucking someone?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Unlike you, I'm not an idiot, Alfred."

Alfred didn't get a chance to refute Arthur's statement, because when he turned to snap back, Arthur's hand slipped around the back of his head and pulled him forward into a kiss.

His mind must have shut down. He must have blacked out—something. That could be the only explanation for why Alfred found himself on his back with Arthur above him, kissing him. Not just a peck on the lips either—Arthur's tongue was in his mouth, greedy and forceful, and Alfred was suddenly certain that he hadn't just blacked out. No, he was dead. It was the only explanation for why Arthur was kissing him in such a way and gently caressing his cheeks with smooth fingers.

Since he was dead and, Alfred started to kiss back. He lacked Arthur's finesse, but he had enthusiasm and desire, eager to be released after years of being pent up. Funny how his parents had wanted girls to be kept out of the house and yet their two sons were making out on the couch.

It was more than he imagined—hot, good, completely wrong. Arthur's tongue searched his entire mouth and then again, only for Arthur to pull away and change the angle, occasionally nipping at Alfred's lips and smoothing over the bites with his tongue. But Alfred most liked Arthur's fingers on his cheeks and how tenderly they caressed him.

Alfred was getting hot, stuck between the fabric of the couch and Arthur above him. His thoughts were muddled and he started to find it hard to concentrate on kissing Arthur. Instead his eyes slid shut and he let Arthur fully take the lead, opting instead to just touch Arthur's face the same way Arthur was doing to him.

One of Arthur's hands moved away from his cheek to drift down his body. Alfred was hard and though it was embarrassing, it felt good when Arthur fondled him through his jeans. Good and very, very wrong.

Then Arthur climbed fully on top of him and rolled his hips against Alfred's, revealing just how hard he was too, and that was when Alfred's eyes snapped open. Arthur's pleased moan was cut short when Alfred shoved him off, panting and wide-eyed. Arthur looked shocked then hurt, but Alfred didn't want to explain. He wiped at his mouth and stumbled off the couch, nearly falling down the stairs as he haphazardly ran up to his room. He slammed the door behind him and fell to his knees on the floor.

It was too much too quickly. Just earlier in the day they were exchanging their usual insults and avoiding each other, and now they'd just been making out and Arthur might have even been planning to have sex. Sex, after how many years of knowing that what he wanted was wrong in too many ways? Alfred reeled and collapsed against the door. He lowered his head to his knees, gripping at his hair with his fingers.

He couldn't face Arthur, couldn't look at him, couldn't be near him, not now that they'd crossed a forbidden line. He couldn't stay in that house anymore.


End file.
